


Billionaire

by Artemis_Dreamer



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Appetite Hex, Belly, Dr. Doom - Freeform, Fetish, Gift Fic, M/M, Mild frostiron, Stark Snark, Stuffed!Tony, Stuffing, indulgence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 05:03:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemis_Dreamer/pseuds/Artemis_Dreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Tony Stark shows up predictably late to a meeting, and gives the team one hell of a shock with a shameless display of his overstuffed stomach.</p>
<p>Fury is not at all amused, Loki is mildly amused, Clint is highly amused, and Victor von Doom is at fault (as usual).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Billionaire

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This is a work of fetish fiction, which contains references to a food binge, descriptions of belly stuffing, and implied future weight gain of a main character.
> 
> Please do not begin reading if any of these concepts upset you or seem repulsive.
> 
> Essentially, don't like, don't read.
> 
> Thanks!

_Scene: SHIELD Meeting Room - Early Afternoon_

When Tony Stark swaggered into an afternoon SHIELD meeting half an hour late, it didn't surprise anyone (pissed them off, yes, but no surprises). The surprising part was, well, they'd notice in a moment.

“Decided to join us, Stark?" Director Fury sniped, not bothering to spare him a glance.

The billionaire opened his mouth to reply, but instead gave an impressive belch. The eyes of all of his teammates were on him in an instant. Jaws dropped as they started in disbelief.

At Tony. Or rather, at Tony's midsection.

The inventor's gut was massively bloated, bulging out over the unfastened waistband of his rumpled jeans. His jacket hung open, and his grey Led Zeppelin t-shirt had ridden up to expose the flushed, straining skin beneath. It was an impressive orb where there had once been a toned, flat stomach.

Iron Man smirked at the expressions of shock on their faces, absently reaching a hand up to wipe a smear of chocolate from his cheek.

"Like what you see?" He jibed, his tone on the line between sarcastic and arrogant.

Clint snorted, and Thor gave a roar of laughter, but it was Steve who spoke.

“Um... Tony,” the Captain began diplomatically, "Is there something that you wanted to tell us?"

Steve really wasn't sure how to put it. He figured that a blatant inquiry about the massively enlarged stomach (which most certainly had not been like this when the team had shared breakfast at Stark Tower that morning) would be just a bit rude. If there was one thing that you could never accuse the super-soldier of, it was rudeness. 

Tony’s reply was matter of fact. “Got bored, felt hungry, and ate a hell of a lot more than I probably should have. Let's just say that Philippe’s must love me right about now."

“That's-" Natasha began, tone acerbic.

“Wait wait wait.” Bruce cut in, an uncharacteristically bold move. “Philippe’s as in the $500-a-plate bistro at Saks and Fifth?" His tone was incredulous.

Tony's smirk widened, one hand straying down to pat his swollen stomach, his expression vaguely self-satisfied. He did not miss the way that Clint gave a low whistle at the cost estimate, or how said estimate sent Steve into what was basically a state of shock.

“The one and only!" he replied pridefully. "Only the best for Tony Stark, Brucie-baby. Or did you forget that I'm a friggin’ billionaire?"

"That’s no excuse for being frivolous," The Black Widow spat scathingly, having recovered from being so rudely interrupted.

“Or eating like a total pig!” Clint called out "Seriously, look in a mirror, you look like a pregnant chick."

Tony rolled his eyes, making a bit of a show of picking his front teeth before replying.

"Better a pregnant chick than a rooster in a wind tunnel, Legolas."

“Oi!" Hawkeye exclaimed, one hand raised self-consciously to his distinctively styled hair. No-one dissed the hair and got away with it.

“Friends! Friends!" Thor boomed, cutting through the building clamor and prompting anyone with functioning eardrums to wince. "Our Man of Iron has indulged like a warrior. There is no shame in this! Why, in Asgard -”

Before the thunder god could launch into some long-winded story, there was an irate cough from Fury.

“In case you motherfuckers hadn't noticed, we're still in the middle of a goddamned meeting.” He sounded thoroughly impatient. "Tony, sit your ass down - make no mistake that we WILL be talking about this later - and let's get on with it."

With that infuriating smirk still plastered across his face, the genius flopped down onto the vacant chair, lounging lazily against the seat-back. His hand rubbed slow circles across the curve of his stomach, and his eyes were half-lidded. The other Avengers sincerely doubted that he was listening to a single word of the director's briefing.

Tony's mind was in a state of pleasant fog, a state that most people would call a food coma. He had devoured more than seven plates of indulgent dishes that had ranged from lobster to crab to fillet mignion, followed by a massive Belgian chocolate ice-cream sundae (heavy on the caramel sauce).

Lesser men would probably have been unconscious right about now; Or perhaps lesser men could never reach such heights of gluttony. Ah, what the hell – he was rich. Rich people could - quite literally - afford to be greedy, right?

As it was, the inventor could hardly keep his eyes open, with only the sharp twinges of pain keeping him awake. It seemed that stomach was not exactly thrilled about being stuffed to bursting, and to say that it hurt would be like saying that the Titanic had hit an ice cube. 

Oh yes, if he had "done" regret, he would be regretting this big-time.

A roiling growl from said overfilled stomach caused the director to pause momentarily in his ranting, and an amused Clint could clearly see the vein at Fury's temple begin to throb. The archer elbowed Nat, who shot him a glare - with just a hint of a conspiratory smirk. They'd seen the director in this state before, and the fallout wasn't going to be pretty in the least.

Another few minutes passed, ticking by so slowly that they may as well have been hours, and Tony could feel the sensation of fullness beginning to ebb.

The feeling of having gorged himself - on succulent white crab meat, boiled to perfection; on Atlantic lobster, swimming in melted butter; on a delectable double-helping of risotto; and on a sundae that was essentially a child’s fantasy, featuring five scoops of rich chocolate ice cream, topped with cherries, chopped nuts, caramel sauce, and a veritable mountain of whipped cream (made with real cream, thank you very much). All of that and more, not to mention the scotch.

The feeling was fading.

Dammit.

Wait, was he seriously annoyed that he DIDN’T feel as much like a beached whale? Since when was he a masochist, exactly?

Without particularly pausing to consider what he was doing, the Stark Industries heir rooted around in the pockets of his tan leather jacket. A couple of moments (and a few annoyed glares) later, his fingers met with a slick plastic wrapper. Good. So he did have a Hershey’s bar on him. WHY was anyone's guess. 

Oh, right. He’d been in a rush that morning, and though that he might need some quick fuel later – fuel that he might have needed had he actually been working, rather than just spending his ‘work time’ scarfing down ridiculously expensive food.

Let's see, stuffed to the gills, and about to eat a massive chocolate bar. Because maybe full-to-bursting sort of felt good. Really good. Yeah, that made about as much sense as anything else that Tony had done in these last few months – in-suit Blu-ray player, anyone?

Exactly.

\---

_Scene: Stark Tower Penthouse - Dinnertime_

“Indulging yourself without me?” 

The sensual purr sent a flicker of panic through Tony’s mind, shivers running down his spine. That frigidly perfect voice could only belong to one man – one man who was not even human. 

The God of Mischief.

The billionaire gulped, watching as Loki’s gorgeous form melted from the shadows and crossed the kitchen to stand beside the breakfast bar. The slice of pizza fell from Tony’s hand, forgotten in the intensity of the moment.

“This is not the first time today, either.” Loki continued dangerously. “You gorged most vulgarly at noon, and now again you are determined to pleasure yourself with food.”

“Aww, it’s not like that, Frosty.” The inventor grinned cockily up at the looming trickster. “I’m just so ridiculously hungry.”

“A half-truth, Anthony.”

“All right, all right… and I really crave the feeling.” He admitted, his tone betraying his guilt. Only Loki could so easily wring the truth right out of him, make him feel so infinitesimally small for even bothering to lie. Why he had even bothered trying to lie to the GOD OF LIES was… a good question, actually.

“The feeling?” An eyebrow raised curiously, an ebony arch on alabaster skin.

“Being full. It’s strange that I never noticed it before – how much I enjoy it.” 

The mischief-maker smirked, moving to stand behind the inventor’s chair, one hand trailing along the marble countertop as he passed. He could sense Victor von Doom’s magic. It hung like a cloying robe around Tony’s compact frame, a string of minor hexes.

Trailing his chilled fingers along the nape of his lover’s neck, prompting a delightful shudder, Loki paused to contemplate the spells. Here was an appetite hex, and here, one for desire. A gluttony hex, and another to inhibit judgement – the trickster smirked at that, knowing that Tony had no judgement to inhibit. Yes, on a fully human individual, these spells would just prompt binges and a lust for food. 

Simple magic, it seemed, at first glance. Simple magic, when applied to a subject such as Anthony. Indeed, this spell had been intended for another, for the one who could become a monster.

On the intended target, the results could have been disastrous. These hexes would have essentially trapped Banner in his monstrous form, fuelling the desire for destruction, and making the sensation of losing control so intoxicating that he would never have been able to shift back.

“Anthony.” Loki spoke his lover's name softly, the tone as clear and pure as the chime of a bell.

“Mph?” His response was a muffled sound, a noise made through a mouthful of the pizza that the man in question had resumed eating.

The trickster rolled his eyes. Mortals truly had no self-control whatsoever. “Exactly how much have you eaten today?” He was vaguely amused, and it shone through in his voice.

“Mmm- a hell of a lot more than I should have, Reindeer Games.” 

Came Tony’s muffled reply, parroting the phrase that he had used on his teammates that afternoon (and tossing in another nickname, just because he knew exactly how much his lover loathed them).

“A hell of a lot more than I should have.”

FIN?

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Ella, the same darling girl that I wrote the "Kisses" series for.
> 
> This isn't really something I'm comfortable with, even after considerable practice, but I really did try.  
> (I've got to be honest, I'm starting to enjoy writing this kink.)
> 
> Thank you for reading - I hope that I could distract you just a bit from the summer heat.
> 
> All comments, opinions and feedback are most welcome.


End file.
